Lost in the Rain
by LightBender
Summary: In which alcohol lowers all of John's inhibitions and Sherlock finds himself preoccupied. The next morning, John can't remember all the details.


__**Disclaimer: **I do not own the characters as those are the property of BBC.

**AN: **This is my first Sherlock fic...and of course it's Johnlock. This is a present for my dearest best friend, Marcella Jole' Mercilee. Thank you!

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_Can I come home now or are you still in your mind palace? -JW_

_Of course. Case was solved hours ago. -SH_

John couldn't help the half hearted scoff that Sherlock's text provoked. Of course Sherlock would not tell John it was all right to return after throwing him out. Albeit, John was used to this by now. Sherlock would get into these moods and need to be in his mind palace, but today had been different. Sherlock had given him an odd look when a hung over John had sleepily stumbled into the sitting room and then rather quietly declared that he needed to go to his mind palace. John had, of course, nodded despite himself and gone to get dressed and left, but not before Sherlock had handed him a mug of coffee. That had been the second sign that something was off. Sherlock never made coffee, unless he needed to drug John, something that he had forgotten while hung over. However, the coffee appeared to be just that: coffee. And, so far, it had no ill effects on John's health.

_Why'd you wait so long to tell me that? Sher, it's not polite at all. -JW_

John looked around the store, in the middle of shopping. He had wandered aimlessly for most of the day, ducking into a library early on to sleep, but he had ended up doing some research for one of Sherlock's cases. The cases were always Sherlock's. John merely watched and recorded and occasionally helped.

_It slipped my mind. Sorry. -SH_

The apology sent off a third warning bell in John's head. Sherlock Holmes did not apologize. John looked around the supermarket, muttering, "Christ...Sher, what the hell?" He half hoped the consulting detective would jump out from behind the produce display.

_Are you all right? -JW_

Luckily, Sherlock did not make John wait too long before texting back, but that minute and a half wait was almost too long.

_Just a headache. Where are you? -SH_

_A headache? Did something go wrong in your mind palace? -JW_

John was already moving to a different aisle. They didn't have painkillers at home. He was worried about Sherlock more now. A headache as a result of his mind palace? Had Sherlock 'deleted' something important? Were the ill effects of not sleeping and eating finally catching up to him? Was Sherlock sick?

John fretted over Sherlock constantly. That man had turned his life upside down, but John did not regret a moment of it. He knew his feelings were veering off into a very grey and muddled area that John did not care to deal with, in fears of ruining their friendship.

_Nothing went wrong. I've just had a lot on my mind after last night. -SH_

_And you never answered my question. Where are you? Making up with Sarah? -SH_

John stared at his mobile. Last night? What had happened last night? John flipped through his messages and groaned as it came back to him. He and Sarah had had a row last night and John had gone out drinking. What had they fought about? It took a moment, but then John remembered what was staring him in the face. Sarah had accused John of being more interested in Sherlock than he was in her, which was sort of true. John had retorted that she flirted with every person who walked by, just to make him jealous, a stupid and simple ploy. A while later, Sarah had thrown him out of her flat and John had, a tad dejectedly, gone to the bar. After a while, he had texted Sherlock, asking if he'd come and get him, even though he could have gotten a cab. For whatever reason, Sherlock had.

_No, I'm not. I'm getting you some painkillers. I'll be home soon. Just, sit down and take the patches off, Sher. -JW_

What had John said last night? He did not remember. Had he told Sherlock about _that_? He knew he was a poor drunk. He got too emotional. He was too like Harry in that respect. Alcohol brought out their emotions, brought them to the surface from where they were normally kept under control. John did not self censor when he was drunk. He could have told Sherlock everything and ruined their tenuous friendship. Sherlock was bad with emotions because he did not understand them, John knew that. Why had he been such an idiot?

_Thank you. I'm not wearing any patches right now. -SH_

John bit his lip, waiting in the queue. Why were there so many people doing their shopping today? John wanted, no, needed, to get home to Sherlock. He was nervous. He stared at the text, thinking it over in his mind.

_Look, Sher, if I said anything last night, I didn't mean it. I say a lot of things when I'm drunk that don't make sense. -JW_

Sherlock's response was almost immediate, which put John more on edge. He was seconds away from pushing his way to front of the queue, but he needed to be able to text Sherlock and try and find out what minefield he was walking into.

_No, I understand. Just out of curiosity though, do you remember what you said? -SH_

_Oh Christ, what did I say? -JW_

John's heart pounded loudly in his ears while he rang up his purchases. He had been in the army! He should be stronger than this. But, apparently, the thought of losing his friend, of losing Sherlock, was too much to deal with. Perhaps it was after all the tragedies he had seen, all the blood and death and massacres, that losing the one good thing in his life was too much for him to handle.

_If you don't remember it, it's not worth bringing up. -SH_

_Christ, Sherlock, just tell me what I said! Don't play this game. -JW_

John walked out into the street with his bags, looking around. He tried to signal for a cab, but they rushed by him. It started raining. This was just not his day. He gave up on trying to find a cab and ducked down into the tube. His phone beeped once, twice, but he did not check his phone until after he got on the train, leaning against the wall in a corner. It was packed.

_I'm not playing a game. If you don't remember, it's probably for the best. I'll just delete the conversation and neither of us will have to feel awkward. -SH_

_Where are you? Lestrade sent over a case and I need a medical opinion. -SH_

John stared at the messages. Had Sherlock just erased it? He wrote back quickly, upset.

_Don't you dare erase it! I want to know and I'd rather know, because I know I said something and I can't just erase it like you! -JW_

After a moment, John calmed down slightly. He just did not like the thought of Sherlock erasing anything that had to do with him. It just reminded him of how easily Sherlock could erase him.

_I'm taking the tube. I'll be back soon. -JW_

_Why are you taking the tube? Take a cab. -SH_

_I didn't feel like waiting for one, Sher. I'll be back soon enough. -JW_

_Yet you can stand on the train until you get here, which is notoriously longer than the cab. -SH_

_How do you know I'm standing? -JW_

_Because I know you. -SH_

John couldn't help but smile at that text. It was a sweet statement, perhaps more so than Sherlock intended for it to be. Sherlock was straightforward and so when he said that he 'knew' John, he meant he had observed John. He knew his habits. Still, he could pretend it had more meaning than that.

_Did you delete the memory? -JW_

_No. -SH_

_Why not? I thought you said you would. -JW_

_You asked me not to. -SH_

_Will you tell me what the conversation was? -JW_

_John, it's nothing. It's best that we just move on. -SH_

_I want to know, Sher. I have a right to know. -JW_

_John, it was nothing. You were drunk as you said before and nothing happened. -SH_

_Can you just tell me? -JW_

John looked around the crowded space. What response would he get from Sherlock? The two giggling girls trying to catch his eye did not even register in his mind. He was so caught up in Sherlock. He wondered if Sherlock ever thought about him this much.

_You were very drunk. You hit on me and started questioning me. I tried to make you go to bed, because it was obvious you were exhausted, but you refused until I answered your questions. -SH_

_Christ. What did I ask? -JW_

Sherlock took his time before answering. Well, at least it felt like that to John as the train slogged through two stations.

_You asked me about my sexuality, whether I had had sex, if I had ever been in love...you don't remember any of this? -SH_

_Not a word of it. Geez, I'm sorry, Sher. Fuck. -JW_

_This was why I didn't want to tell you. It's fine. -SH_

_How is it fine? Well, I mean, I don't remember the answers, if you're worried about that. -JW_

_I'm not worried about that. I had hoped you would remember. -SH_

John was confused. He was blushing like mad, but Sherlock's texts were calm, controlled, seemingly unbothered with what had happened. He didn't know what to make of it at all and that worried him.

_Why did you hope that I would remember? -JW_

_It's obvious, isn't it? -SH_

_No, it's not, Sherlock. Just tell me. Don't play games. -JW_

_No reason really. I just had hoped not go through it again. -SH_

_How come you're fine with all this? Or are you waiting for me to come home to actually get angry? -JW_

John had to know. He did not like walking into situations blind. Since he was around so many other people, he figured he could keep it together.

_I am fine with this, John. Why wouldn't I be? -SH_

_You're not going to ask me to leave or anything? -JW_

_Weren't you listening when I said I'd be lost without my blogger? -SH_

John had been listening, but he had figured Sherlock had been being sarcastic. Sherlock was a consulting detective, the only in the world. John was just...John.

_I didn't think you were serious. -JW_

_I'm always serious when it comes to you. It was the truth. -SH_

_The truth? -JW_

_Yes. Why did you take the tube? Apparently it's running very, very late. -SH_

_It's not my fault the train's late. It's probably Mycroft's. -JW_

_You know, you might be correct. He would conspire against me. -SH_

_Conspire against you? -JW_

_I enjoy your company. -SH_

It seemed as if Sherlock was dancing around something, perhaps something he had told John the previous night, but John couldn't recall it at all. It was possible for Sherlock to be pleasant, but it was not natural for him.

_And I yours, but you normally don't say that. -JW_

_Sentiment? -SH_

_Sentiment? For me? -JW_

_Yes. -SH_

_Why? -JW_

_Do I really need to spell this out? I thought it was fairly obvious. -SH_

_Well, apparently I'm not seeing it. Could you explain? -JW_

It was John's stop so he got off the train, getting shuffled around by the mess of people on the platform. He almost did not hear his phone beep as he climbed the stairs. It was still training outside, so he hesitated before going into the rain.

_I'd be lost without you. -SH_

Did that mean what John thought it did? His heart skipped a beat or ten. He stared blankly at the screen for a good five minutes, trying to figure out what to say. He was still a little ways from Baker Street, from the flat, from Sherlock. He had to get his head straight, but he knew he would not be able to do it if Sherlock was sitting there, staring at him intensely, as he was prone to do. However, he could not stay away from the flat. Sherlock had a headache and him admitting pain meant that it had to be a lot. John shivered, looking at the rain. It was getting harder and thunder rumbled in the distance.

_Get off it. I record what you do. I follow you. I'm the one who'd be lost without you. You can leave at anytime, go wandering off into the world and you'll be fine. Don't doubt yourself. -JW_

John went into the rain then, turning his collar up as much as it would go, reminding himself horribly of Sherlock, Sherlock with his cheekbones and upturned collar and intense gaze. It was not fair that this man plagued his thoughts in such a fashion. John had dated a string of women, none of whom lasted long enough to make an impression, because they couldn't compete with Sherlock and the whirlwind that John's life had become.

In the pouring rain, John could not hear if Sherlock replied or not. He moved quickly down random alleys, trying to get back to the flat as quickly as possible. It was no use though. He was soaked to the bone by the time he reached the building. He fumbled with his keys, finally managing to unlock the door and get inside. Shivering, he went to their flat, heading towards the kitchen. He had raindrops falling into his eyes, so he could not see clearly. He dropped the bags on the table, brushing his eyes off with the back of his jacket sleeve, not that it did much to dry him off. He was still soaked.

"John-"

"Give me a minute, Sher. I've got your painkillers." John was carefully putting things away, shivering. He knew he should take his jacket off and change, but that thought just made him shiver more from the cold. He finally found the bottle of painkillers.

"John-"

"Just a minute, Sherlock. How's your headache? Same intensity? Where's the location? What were you thinking about that triggered this?" John went over to get Sherlock a cup of water before walking back to the sitting room.

"John-"

"Sher-"

Sherlock got up from the couch and strode across the room so he was standing in front of John. He placed a single finger over John's lips. "John. Let me..." It then seemed to dawn on Sherlock just how wet John was. "The weather is horrible."

"Hence why I took the tube. Now, please take these and tell me what your head feels like. I'm a doctor." John stepped back slightly, away from Sherlock and the heat radiating from him. He shivered again, longing to get closer to Sherlock's warmth.

Sherlock sighed and took the cup and the bottle of pills from John. He turned slightly, reaching around John to place them on a nearby table. He straightened up, giving John an intense look as he stepped closer. They were centimeters apart and John's breathing picked up. His mouth was dry and his voice hoarse when he asked, "Why aren't you taking the painkillers? What about your headache?"

Sherlock surveyed John's face, eyes seeing more than John wished they would. "You haven't checked your mobile since you sent your last text."

"No." John did not break off eye contact as his left hand went to his pocket for his phone.

"Don't."

"Why not?"

"You already know what that message says. You've suspected it, but never said."

"You're not making sense. What do I know?"

"How obvious do I need to make it for you?" Sherlock shook his head with a faint smile gracing his lips. He tilted John's face up with a single finger, observing John's eyes dilate. That was all the confirmation he needed. He leaned in and kissed John lightly, a simple brush of their lips.

John forgot how to breathe for a few moments, just staring at Sherlock as he pulled away from the innocent kiss. It took him a few moments to remember how to speak. "How...why?"

Sherlock let his finger caress John's jawline before sliding down his neck to rest against his pulse point. "Your pulse has risen. Eyes dilated when I turned your face up." His other hand dropped down to touch one of John's hands. "Your hand is slightly damp."

"I was just in the rain." John could not stop himself from retorting that.

"Stop denying what we both know. It's very boring."

"What do we know then?"

"You're in love with me."

John hated how Sherlock could read all that. It made him feel vulnerable. He could not hide anything from Sherlock, not his feelings, not his thoughts, and he could rarely read anything in Sherlock's face. However, had Sherlock just given him the keys? He flipped their hands so he was able to take Sherlock's pulse.

"Your heart is racing. Your eyes are dilated...you're in love with me."

"Accurate deduction. I do believe you are beginning to observe and not merely see."

"I thought emotions were beneath you. You divorced yourself from all feeling to just focus on your work," John said almost accusatorially. "You don't understand sentiment, people, how they feel. You use them for your experiments."

"You're the exception, John. You're my exception." Sherlock did not look away from John, gaze full of emotions. "I didn't say anything sooner, because I wanted confirmation. You confirmed last night and you have confirmed again just now."

"An exception?"

"You know I don't understand sentiment, but that doesn't mean I don't feel it. When I'm around you, I...I feel things, sentiment, attachment, need, want, desire, and, dare I say it? love for you."

John scoffed softly, glancing down and then back up at Sherlock's eyes. "You prat."

John waited until he saw the doubt begin to creep into the pale eyes. Then, he all but threw himself at Sherlock, kissing him deeply. He did not care that he was soaking wet and Sherlock was only wearing one of his thin button ups, he grabbed Sherlock, needing to feel his presence, feel him there.

While John was distracted by Sherlock's lips moving perfectly against his, he was backed up until he was against the wall, pinned there by Sherlock. John wrapped an arm around Sherlock's neck, the other holding onto Sherlock's shoulder, pulling him closer. Sherlock's hands were on John's hips, but then they pushed John's sweater and shirt up so he could sneak cool hands underneath to gently caress his skin.

John whimpered softly into the kiss as Sherlock slipped his tongue into his all too willing mouth. It was like the temperature of the room had gone up about twenty degrees. He knew his face was lighting up, but it was hard to really care when he had that skilled and brilliant tongue knocking all common sense and proper thought out of John's brain.

John let one of his hands slide down the front of Sherlock's chest, not missing the muffled gasp when John ran over a sensitive nipple or traced over the semi-prominent ribs. He ran the hand back up Sherlock's chest and started to unbutton Sherlock's too tight shirt, which was not as simple as one would think doing it one handed.

Sherlock's mouth finally pulled away from John's and John whimpered. The soldier, the army doctor, whimpered at the loss of Sherlock's mouth. However, he understood while when Sherlock pushed off John's rain soaked jacket and then pulled John's sweater and shirt off, tossing them off in some random direction. Their lips crashed back together as John worked on getting Sherlock's shirt unbuttoned. He pushed off Sherlock's shirt, which caused those graceful fingers to leave John's body briefly, but they returned fiercely, tracing over the soldier's muscle, the dog tags that hung around John's neck, to the curve of his spine down to his arse. Sherlock groaned when John's fingers went to tease his nipples, pushing the doctor harder against the wall by the force of his hips, which caused them both to gasp into the kiss at the faint friction. They both started to move their hips against each other, the kiss getting sloppier.

It was Sherlock who finally pulled away, taking a step back, away from John. John's hands struggled to get purchase on Sherlock's lithe body and pull him back to him. He looked up at Sherlock in confusion. "Sher?"

Sherlock was breathing hard, those pale cheeks a little flushed. "Not...here. Not against the wall. We should...bedroom."

John let out a sigh of relief. He had thought that Sherlock was second guessing them, had decided to stop, but apparently not. Judging by the hungry look Sherlock was giving his body, Sherlock wanted John. And John knew it was painfully obvious that he wanted Sherlock. He had wanted the infuriating man from the first day, but he hadn't been able to articulate it. However, somehow, Sherlock had known all along.

He pulled Sherlock in for another kiss, a sweet, loving one to convey all the emotions he felt towards Sherlock other than lust and desire. There was love there, evident in every look, every conversation and it had taken them so long to see it for themselves. Sherlock answers John's kiss, matching the emotions perfectly, because they know each other and it's more than just sex. It's always been more than just desire. There's friendship, love, concern, frustration, but most of all, pure connection.

Sherlock smiled at John as they pulled away from the kiss. He picked up John's hand and kissed the back of it tenderly, before pulling John towards the nearest bedroom (Sherlock's). John squeezed Sherlock's hand and let him be led into the bedroom. Whereupon, he shoved Sherlock against the door and promptly went to kiss him senseless.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

_And if I don't want to go anywhere without you? You are the only person I want to remain until the end of our days. You are the only one I wish to stay with. -SH_

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**AN: **Debated about writing the smut, but decided to end it there (currently having a writing party with another friend, so I'm trying to get through a bunch of writing/fics right now). If you want another chapter along those lines, say so and I'll consider it. Thank you! 3


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